


Music and the Genius

by FirefliesFlash



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirefliesFlash/pseuds/FirefliesFlash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Maeve's death, Dr. Spencer Reid meets Teagan Wellers, a music therapist living in Fredericksburg, VA. What happens to the couple after a stalker makes himself known and turns Teagan's life upside down? Language and mild scenes. Set in Season 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

25 year old Teagan Wellers pushed her bangs out of her face and sighed, staring at the computer screen. She had to type up this assessment and place it in her client's binder by noon.

"Ugh," she sighed again. "I can't concentrate."

She decided to go to the lounge and get herself her third cup of coffee of the morning.  _So much for sleeping tonight_. After being slapped by a client and a string popping on her guitar during one of the music therapy sessions she led, she was feeling drained. She had only been working at Medstar Georgetown University Hospital for about 6 months as a music therapist. She worked with many populations, from pediatrics to geriatrics. Right now, she was supposed to be filling out an assessment on her newest client, a child with Cerebral Palsy, who had been referred to her by the child's treatment team, but she had been staring at the screen for so long that the words were starting to blur.

Teagan stood up from her black leather swivel desk chair and stretched. She took a quick glance around the office she shared with the hospital's other music therapist, Gene Richardson. Her desk was scattered with Post-It notes, folders, paper clips, guitar picks, and other small items. Behind her desk, lay her guitar, which she kept locked tightly in a case. She looked over at the other desk in the room, that of her coworker, Gene.  _Neat and organized, as always._ He wasn't there at the moment, though—he was off in pediatrics, leading a group session.

Teagan leaned down to retrieve her purse in the hopes of finding change, only then to hear a sudden knock at her door. She jumped, startled, and hit her head on the ledge of her desk.

"OW!" she exclaimed, rubbing the spot she hit.

"Excuse me," a soft voice stated. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." Teagan looked up and saw a man with short, tousled brown hair staring back at her.

"Um, it's fine. I'm, uh, a little clumsy."

The man was tall and lanky. Extremely tall, actually, compared to her measly five foot, half inch self. His eyes were noticeably dark in color…liquid chocolate, almost. And the circles underneath them…clearly he didn't sleep much. Now that she was standing closer to him, she could see flecks of blonde highlighted throughout his chestnut hair.  _Damn, he's gorgeous_.

"I'm a little lost," the man stated. "Is radiology on this floor?"

"No, I'm sorry," Teagan replied, shaking her head. "It's on the next floor. Just take the elevator and go up one more level."

"Okay. I'm sorry I bothered you," he mumbled. "Thanks so much for your help."

"No problem."

Teagan watched the man exit out of the office and head towards the elevator.  _Poor thing. I think everyone's gotten lost here at some point, this place is so ridiculously big._ She then resumed searching for change in her purse. After finding some, she left the office and headed towards the lounge for coffee.

* * *

Dr. Spencer Reid headed towards the elevator. He pressed the button and proceeded to wait for the elevator to arrive. As he waited, he snuck a glance at his watch, and sighed. He was late for his CAT scan. Reid was hardly late for anything.  _If only I'd driven here instead of taking the Metro for once_ ….

He had made this appointment a few days ago, after being referred to Dr. Keith Skarsgard by his current physician, Dr. Harry Brubeck. Dr. Brubeck could find nothing that caused Reid's headaches, but had referred him to another doctor to see if there was something he had missed.

Spencer refused to believe that his migraines were psychosomatic. Whatever Maeve had told him to do to relieve them before her death had been helping, but now they were getting steadily worse, if that were possible. They had been terrible before. He took his vitamins daily, like Maeve had suggested. He even swapped from coffee to tea, but nothing seemed to be working.

The elevator dinged then, shaking Reid from his thoughts. He boarded, hitting the button for the floor he wanted. A few moments later, he stepped out again, glancing around as he did so. There was a waiting area to his left, where a few patients sat filling out paperwork or reading magazines. A receptionist sat behind a large desk, smiling brightly at him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I'm here for a CAT scan," Reid stated.

"All right," the receptionist replied, reaching for a clipboard and pen. "Just sign in right here and we'll call you back shortly. Who are you seeing?"

"Dr. Skarsgard," he replied. The woman nodded in response.

He walked over to the waiting area and sat down in a rather uncomfortable chair. He grabbed a book from his ever-present messenger bag to read while he waited. After he had finished three books, a nurse called his name.

"Spencer Reid?" He stood and followed the nurse into another area, who began to take his vital signs. She looked down at his chart.

"It says you're here for a CAT scan, right?"

"Right."

"Here's a hospital gown," she stated, handing it to him. "After you change, make sure you remove any metal, such as earrings, watches, and such. Do you have any metal plates or shunts inside?"

"No."

"It also says here that you have been suffering from headaches, but there's no known cause. Have you experienced any headaches in the past few days?"

"No."

"The past week?"

"Yes."

"How long did it last?"

"Three days," he replied.

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad would you rate your headaches?" she asked.

"A 10. At least, when they first start. They will sometimes ease to about an eight about forty-eight hours in or so."

"Hmm," she replied, jotting down more information on the chart. "I'll give you a few minutes to change and then we'll start your CAT scan. Then you'll see Dr. Skarsgard for the preliminary results, okay? The full results won't be back for a few days."

"Okay."

Ten minutes later, the nurse returned and instructed him to lie flat on his back on the narrow examination table. He squeezed his eyes shut and lie perfectly still as he was slowly pulled through the scanner.

"All done, Mr. Reid," the nurse said some time later. "Wait here and Dr. Skarsgard will be in shortly." Reid nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, a tall, graying man stepped inside the room, carrying a sense of authority about him. Reid wasn't sure why, but there was something off about the man. He had never given Reid any reason not to trust him, but something felt out of place.

"Okay, Dr. Reid," Dr. Skarsgard said, never looking up from Reid's chart. "I'm looking at the preliminary results and I don't see anything." Reid sighed heavily.  _Why doesn't anyone believe me?_

"If I do find something," Skarsgard began, "I will do a follow-up. The full results should be back in about four days and I'll send them to Dr. Brubeck as well."

"Thanks," he replied. "I stated earlier that nothing had ever been found on a CAT scan. I had one done a few years back and the results were inconclusive."

"I really don't think it's necessary to run more tests," Skarsgard stated, finally looking up from the chart. "There's simply no evidence to suggest that your headaches are caused by any internal factor."

"Well, something has to cause them," Reid snapped.  _Why is he being so difficult? I'm not crazy… I'm not._

"Dr. Reid, given your family history, don't you think that they could be psychosomatic?"

"Yes," he replied angrily.  _This is getting nowhere. Why do all doctors think I'm making my headaches up?_

Most doctors saw his family history and that his mother was a paranoid schizophrenic and chalked his headaches up to that. He was 33. Well past the age of onset in males for schizophrenia. He knew when his head ached and throbbed with pain. He knew when the pain became so unbearable that he nearly passed out from it. There was no way he could or would make this up.

"What did you say you did again? You work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI?"

"Yes," Reid replied.

"I suggest," Skarsgard began. "That you take a vacation. And then I'm sure you'll find all these 'headaches' will go away." The man then left the room without so much as a goodbye. Reid narrowed his eyes.  _Are you kidding me?_   _Did he really just leave?_

Spencer grabbed his messenger bag from the floor and exited, heading towards the elevator, clearly vexed.  _I need yet another opinion_.  _If Maeve was here, she'd know what to do to help me_.  _But she's not here. And it's my fault. All my fault._

The elevator dinged again, interrupting his thoughts. The girl he'd met earlier stood before him. A guitar was strapped to her back, with a purse slung over one shoulder and a bag of handheld instruments over the other.  _The guitar looks bigger than she does_. She was tiny, barely over five feet tall, if Reid had to guess. She had short blond hair, set in a bob style, with bangs cut straight across.

"Hello again," she chirped. Her accent indicated that she wasn't from this area. She sounded like she was from the Southeastern United States, like maybe Alabama or Georgia.

"Hi," he replied.

"Did you ever find radiology?" she asked. Her "you" sounded like "ya".  _Definitely from the South_.

"Yes. Thanks for the directions."

"No problem." The girl grinned a very toothy grin at him, before exiting and passing him by.


	2. Chapter 2

**4 Days Later**

Reid stepped into Dr. Harry Brubeck's personal office. The office was quite large, with a black leather couch along one wall, a bookshelf filled with medical books across from it, and a large desk in the middle of the room. Two wingback chairs sat across from the desk.

"Please have a seat, Dr. Reid," Dr. Brubeck stated, gesturing to the chairs. Reid sat down in one chair and placed his messenger bag in the other. "I have the results of your CAT scan."

"And?" Reid asked.

"The results were inconclusive," Brubeck said, settling into the chair behind his desk. Reid sighed heavily.  _Of course._ "Now, Dr. Skarsgard is open to running more tests, but he doesn't think it's necessary."

"It's not," Reid murmured. "The CAT scans are still going to be inconclusive. Every test has come back negative. Every doctor I've been to thinks my headaches are psychosomatic."

"Dr. Reid," Brubeck began, leaning forward in his chair and clasping his hands together. "I do not doubt for a second that you have very intense migraines, but I do not know what makes them occur. I think they could be psychosomatic, but that does not mean that they aren't. I simply don't know what causes your migraines. However, whatever that Dr. Donovan you spoke of suggested must have worked, since you haven't mentioned suffering from them in over a year."

"It's stopped working," Reid replied softly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of Maeve's name.

"I know we've talked about these migraines being stress-related in the past," Brubeck stated, furrowing his brow. "Have things gotten particularly stressful at your job lately?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "No more stressful than usual."

"How about your personal life?" Brubeck asked. Reid licked his lips nervously and stared down at his lap.

"No," he answered, shaking his head again. Brubeck studied him for a moment, giving him a doubtful look.

"Well, we've tried almost everything for your headaches that I can think of. You've lowered your caffeine intake, you've changed your diet, and you've begun taking equal doses of riboflavin and magnesium..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "But if these are stress related…" He tapped his chin.

"What?" Reid asked curiously.

"Have you considered therapy?"

"You mean counseling?" Reid asked tersely.

"No, I mean therapy. Music therapy specifically. Have you ever heard of it?"

"Actually, yes I have," he answered. "It's been a growing profession since the 1950s. It was recently mentioned on the news with Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. Music therapy helped her gain the ability to speak again."

"Yes, I saw that too," Brubeck answered, nodding.

"Do you think it will help me?" Reid asked, a tone of doubt in his voice.

"It's worth a shot," Brubeck answered. "I've actually seen it work. My wife was diagnosed with cancer two years ago, and she worked with a music therapist named Gene Richardson."

"What did they do?" Reid asked curiously.

"Well, during chemotherapy, she was having a lot of pain and was constantly sick. Gene would play relaxing music for her during the sessions to ease the pain. After she went into remission, she joined a cancer survivor group he leads. They're currently in the process of writing a song, so they can make a music video."

"That sounds really fascinating," Reid stated, honestly surprised.

"It's done wonders for her and I'm hoping it will help you," Dr. Brubeck answered, wondering to himself why he hadn't considered this option earlier.

"Thank you, Dr. Brubeck."

"You're welcome, Dr. Reid. I'm going to call Gene later this afternoon and send him the paperwork and things he needs. Then, I'll call you soon with more information and you can speak with Gene then."

"Okay," he said, rising to his feet and gathering his messenger bag.

"I'll talk to you soon, Dr. Reid," Brubeck said, standing up and holding the door open for him. "I really hope this helps."

"Me too."

He still wasn't entirely sold on the idea of music therapy.  _Nothing else has worked. Why should this?_ Of the millions of topics he knew about, this was one of which he knew very little. He made a mental note to go to the library and do some research. He glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he could board the Metro before rush hour.

* * *

Teagan walked to her car and unloaded all of her items into the backseat. She gave it a quick once-over and smiled. When she first saw the little purple Volkswagen Beetle on the car lot, she knew it had to be hers.  _It's certainly not the most practical car and the gas mileage is terrible, but I still think it's wonderful._

She exited the parking lot and started the drive home.  _Traffic is going to be a bitch! Rush hour hasn't even begun yet. I never had this problem back home!_

Teagan sighed. She reached over and switched on the radio, hoping to shake her sudden case of homesickness.  _There's gotta be some Luke Bryan on one of these stations_. She searched and scanned until she heard the first few beats of "That's My Kinda Night".  _This is my lucky afternoon!_ She turned the volume up as loud as she could stand and sang along.

Thirty minutes later, Teagan pulled in the driveway of her small apartment she shared with her best friend, Lily Weston. After grabbing her keys and unlocking the door, Teagan's 6 year old West Highland White Terrier, McDuffie came running towards her.

"Duffers! Whatcha doin' boy?" She asked as the dog enthusiastically licked her face. "Calm down, you crazy dog! Oh my goodness!" McDuffie was jumping everywhere and demanding attention. She ruffled his fur and was rewarded with sloppy, wet kisses.

"Gross! You crazy dog!" she exclaimed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"McDuffie being crazy again?" Lily asked, entering the room.

"Yes! But when is he not?" Teagan asked with a giggle before glancing up at the clock. "You're home early."

"Yeah, I didn't have bus duty today," Lily replied. "So I got to come home early for once. And I didn't get stuck in rush hour. Commuting from Fredericksburg to Dumfries and back every day is a nightmare."

"I bet. Were your kids bad today?"

"No, not really. Well, no more than usual. Potamac High has some good kids. At least, they're good in my biology class." Teagan giggled again.

"It couldn't be because they fear you," she stated sarcastically.

"No, of course not," Lily replied with a wink, tossing her extremely curly brunette hair over her shoulder. "They know that I don't mess around."

"I've always said you were in the wrong profession. You should be a drill sergeant instead of a teacher."

"Really, there's not much difference," Lily joked. "How was your day? How was Gene?"

"It was okay. No new clients. Gene gets a new client tomorrow, though."

"Who?"

"I don't know," Teagan replied with a shrug. "Probably another cancer survivor for his group."

"Oh," Lily replied. "Have you seen that cute guy again? The one you were telling me got lost?"

"Elevator Guy?" Teagan asked. "No, I haven't." She shook her head. "Medstar Georgetown is a big hospital. I probably won't see him again. He was cute, though."

"Well, maybe you'll see him soon," Lily stated. "You just never know." Teagan shrugged.

"I need to go take McDuffie for a walk," she stated. "I'll be back in about an hour."

"Okay. You're on your own for dinner tonight. Jared and I are going out."

"That's fine," Teagan stated. "I'll just get some take-out. Have fun!"

"I will!" Lily answered. Teagan pulled off her boots before lacing up her sneakers and reaching for McDuffie's leash.

"McDuffie!" she called. "Are you ready to go for a walk, buddy?" The small, wiry furred dog came flying out of the kitchen and began running in circles. "Sit! Sit, McDuffie!" McDuffie sat as she hooked his leash on his collar and took him outside for a walk.

She began to walk him through the courtyard of her apartment complex, stopping briefly to let McDuffie hike his leg on a nearby bush or patch of grass. A breeze blew, causing her to shiver.  _I probably should have grabbed a jacket. It's much colder here than it is back home in Milledgeville this time of year._  She took in the changing leaves, admiring the vibrant colors. She felt another strange twinge of homesickness, before McDuffie began growling.

"What is it, buddy?" she asked, scanning the courtyard.  _There's nothing here. Crazy dog._ "C'mon McDuffie, let's go." Teagan took one last glance around. _Still nothing._ She hurried off to the park then, trying to put the unsettling moment out of her mind. Somehow she sensed the sudden chill that ran through her had nothing to do with the cold.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Spencer couldn't believe his luck. He'd actually managed to find a seat on the Metro, today and during morning rush hour, no less!  _I hope this is a sign that the rest of the day will go well_. The only people in the compartment with him were a woman nursing a baby and an elderly woman who appeared to be knitting a scarf.

Spencer crossed his long, lanky legs and stared down at his socks. He was wearing a purple and green argyle sock on his left foot and a black and white striped sock on his right foot. Morgan sometimes teased him about this odd quirk, much to Spencer's slight irritation.  _It isn't that weird a thing to do, is it?_ Besides, there was a perfectly good explanation for his odd sock pairings! When Spencer had first begun washing his clothes as a child, he kept losing socks in the dryer, leaving him with many mismatched pairs. So as a result, he started wearing mismatched socks. As he had gotten older, he would buy matching pairs—the louder and brighter the better—and intentionally mix them up inside his sock drawer. It was a system that worked well for him, and, even better, wearing mismatched socks gave him a hint of unpredictability. Too bad for people like Morgan if they didn't get the appeal.

He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a book on Quantum physics. He paused for a moment, smiling slightly to himself.  _Okay, maybe the mismatched socks_ _ **and**_ _reading a book on Quantum physics—for fun, no less—is a_ _ **little**_ _eccentric_. He began to read then, his index finger skimming along the page.

"Excuse me, young man," he heard a woman say. Spencer glanced up from his book. The woman who had spoken to him was the elderly lady knitting.

"Yes?" Spencer replied.

"Are you actually reading that fast?" the woman asked.

"Well, our conscious minds can process sixteen bits of information per second. Our unconscious, however, can process eleven million." The woman stared at him blankly, blinking rapidly. Spencer sighed. "Yes. I am actually reading this fast."

The elderly woman continued to stare at him curiously. He shifted uncomfortably, returning to his book. All he wanted was for someone to understand him.  _Is that too much to ask?_   _Maeve understood me._

He glanced up quickly again and looked at the woman nursing her baby.  _What kind of father would I make? Maeve and I never did get to discuss the possibility of parenthood, but I'm sure she would have been a wonderful mother._  He thought back to the Halloween that Henry dressed like him and the burst of pride he felt. He couldn't wait to speak to Maeve that following Sunday and tell her about it.

" _He wanted to be you for Halloween?" Maeve asked. "That's so sweet!"_

" _He wanted to go as his 'favorite profiler'," Spencer replied, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. "I thought he'd want to go as another member of my team…not me."_

" _Didn't you tell me once that you're his godfather?" she asked._

" _Yeah, he's my godson," he replied, straightening up as another burst of pride surged through him._

" _Well, it seems only natural that he'd look up to you," she stated. "And from what you've told me, you seem to spend a lot of time with him, too."_

" _I don't get to see him as often as I'd like," Spencer admitted. "But when I do see him, he likes for me to show him a lot of magic tricks."_

" _You do magic?" Maeve asked, her tone surprised._

" _Yeah," he admitted shyly, thankful that she couldn't see his blush over the phone._

" _That's adorable! I bet you're a hit at parties," she teased._

" _Not really," he stated. "Parties aren't uh, really my thing." She giggled then, a light, happy sound._

" _So, no top hat and cape for you, huh?"_

" _No."_

" _That's a shame. I would love to be your assistant." It was his turn to chuckle._

_"I'd like that. I've never had an assistant before, unless Henry counts."_

_"I'd say it does. You seem to be really good with kids. That's a rather admirable trait, in my opinion." He blushed crimson again._

_"T-Thank you," he stammered out, blushing harder than ever. Even after the conversation ended, the words lingered in his mind for the rest of the day. He began to picture a future of himself as a father and for once, the idea wasn't that strange._

He glanced at the mother and her baby briefly again, before looking down at his lap. It had been nice to entertain the thought of having a child and starting a family, but he had stopped considering that sort of future since Maeve's death.

He had also considered going back to using Dilaudid, but he thought that would be an insult to her memory. Those memories of her were all he had left.  _Why would I cloud them with some drug? Besides, I've come too far to mess it all up now._  He fingered the medallion he always kept in his pocket, which was a constant reminder of his sobriety.  _I hope these music therapy sessions actually help._   _Maybe Dr. Brubeck's right. Maybe I do dream my migraines up. Maybe I'm crazy. Hell, I probably deserve this pain. If that's the case, perhaps I'm better off alone._

Rossi had told him to dream and allow that dream to "just happen". Last night he dreamed that dream again. He got to hold her and it was wonderful. He wished he had held her when she was alive; to feel the warmth of her arms around him and to see her smiling brightly back at him. But he never would. The Metro came to a halt, and Spencer exited in a brisk manner, thoughts of Maeve and what might have been swirling through his mind.

* * *

Teagan was going to be late. Again.  _Where the hell is my shoe? How do I always manage to lose **just** one shoe?_

"Hey, Lil, have you seen my shoe anywhere?" she called, lifting up one of the couch cushions.

"No," the green-eyed brunette replied, poking her head out of her bedroom. "What shoe are you missing now?"

"My maroon pump."

"Did McDuffie take it?" Teagan pondered this for a second. McDuffie had a thing for her shoes, particularly that pair.

"I checked his bed already."

"Teags, I swear if your skinny ass wasn't attached to you, you'd lose it."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "Just help me find it! I'm going to be late again!"

"Okay. Okay," Lily held up her arms in a mock surrender. "I'll help you look. Never mind that I'm going to be late too," she added.

"Shut up." Lily stuck her tongue out at her. Lily surveyed the room, quickly spotting the shoe in the one place she knew Teagan hadn't looked.

"Um, Teags," Lily said. "Look under the couch." Teagan took a quick glance. There was her missing shoe, the toe peeking out from under the couch.  _Aha! Of course. The phone call from Gene earlier_. She must have just dropped her shoe during the course of the call and it somehow got knocked under the couch.

"I swear to God I just looked there. Thanks, Lily."

"Uh huh," Lily replied. "Just go get your damn shoe." Teagan grabbed her shoe and slipped it onto her foot.

"'Bye, Lily!" she yelled, quickly pulling on her jacket and scarf before bolting out the door.

* * *

Spencer exited the elevator.  _Am I even on the right floor?_  He took a quick glance around and saw a sign that indicated that the clinic was to the left. He looked around once he reached the clinic. The door was locked, but the lights were on.  _Hopefully someone's in. I just want to get this over with._  He raised his hand and rapped his knuckle against the door.

"So sorry!" A voice called from behind him. "I'm running a little late this morning."

Spencer turned and saw a man who he could only describe as sloppy. The man was rather stout, with what Morgan called a "beer gut". The dress shirt he wore was well-fitted, accentuating his rather pronounced stomach. His hair was blond, long, much longer than when Spencer had grown his hair out, and slightly greasy. He even had an earring in each ear.  _That's against hospital dress code. I wonder how he gets away with it_.

"Are you Dr. Reid?" the man asked, reaching into his pocket and fishing around for his keys before unlocking the door.

"Yes. Are you Gene Richardson?"  _This guy…is my therapist?_

"Yes. Nice to finally meet you." Gene stuck out his hand, and Spencer shook it rather tentatively. He hated shaking hands. Sure, it was a common way to greet someone, but there were so many germs.

"So, um, what are we going to do?" Spencer asked. He had gone by the library the night before and checked out several books and academic journals pertaining to music therapy, but he knew each therapist had different techniques they used for clients.

"Well, I looked at your chart," Gene began.  _Oh boy. Here we go_. "And every doctor you've seen said your stress levels were unusually high."  _Well, that's not what I expected_.

"Well, yes. My job is very stressful, but I feel like I handle it rather well."

"Come in, Dr. Reid and have a seat." Gene gestured to a couch. Spencer sat and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, placing it on the cushion next to him. "You were saying?" Gene closed the door behind him.

"My job is, um, fairly stressful."

"Yes, I read you were a profiler. What's that?"

"I am part of a team that studies human behavior. Usually the behavior of criminals, such as serial killers, arsonists, rapists and so forth." Gene looked slightly shocked.

"That sounds…fascinating," he stated. "And scary."

"Yes. It's a little of both."

"So I'm going to assume that you don't work normal hours?"

"No, I don't, typically."

"Your chart says that you've been suffering from migraines."

"Yes."  _Yes, yes, and yes. Can we move on, please?_

"Although I'm not a doctor, I believe these could be stress induced. You may not realize you're stressed when you actually are. We're going to try some guided imagery exercises today, okay?"

"Okay," Reid answered, slightly curious. "What's that?"  _I don't recall reading about that._

"Guided imagery helps focus your imagination to something else by using words and music. Maybe by doing this, you can learn to relax."

"This is considered therapy?" Spencer asked rather dubiously, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, it is. Please, close your eyes, Dr. Reid."

"It's Spencer."

"Okay. Close your eyes, Spencer." Gene walked over to the CD player that was in the room and cut on a CD. Spencer recognized the song immediately. It was a Sarabande by Bach.  _I'm not really a fan of Bach. I like Beethoven better. Particularly the "Moonlight Sonata"._

"Focus on your breathing. Concentrate on taking deep, even breaths." Spencer inhaled, then exhaled, attempting to concentrate on his breathing and nothing else, while listening to the music and Gene's voice.

"Feel relaxation beginning at the bottom of your feet," Gene said softly. "It might feel like stepping into a warm bathtub…or it may feel like a tingling sensation…or maybe calm and loose. Allow the relaxation to spread over your feet and up to your ankles."

Spencer wasn't sure if it was the mere power of suggestion or if he really was beginning to relax, but his feet were beginning to feel slightly tingly and loose.  _It's a pleasant feeling, really._ As Gene continued to speak in gentle, soothing tones, instructing Spencer to relax almost every part of his body, Spencer found himself drifting off. He began to picture himself in the woods, in autumn, the air chilly and crisp while red, yellow, and brown leaves crunched beneath his feet. He could hear a stream babbling nearby. It was so picturesque. Yet…it was missing…something. But what? He couldn't figure it out.

"Now, you need to return to your usual level of wakefulness and alertness," Gene said, his voice slightly louder, interrupting his daydream. "Feel your body and mind becoming more aware of your surroundings. I will count to three. When I reach three, you will be at your desired level of wakefulness."

The woods began to disappear and the strains of a violin met his ears instead of the babbling brook.

"...three," Gene said. "Give yourself a minute if you need to. Then, open your eyes." Spencer slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the brightness of the fluorescent lights.

"How do you feel?" Gene asked.

"Really relaxed," he answered honestly, amazed at the results.

"Good."

"I'm curious," Reid asked. "How long did this take?"

"About 30 minutes."

"Really?" he asked, astounded.  _It only felt like five minutes._

"Yeah. I'm glad this seemed to work for you. We'll make an appointment for later in the week and we'll try something a little different next time. Let me know if you have another migraine."

"Okay. Thanks so much," Spencer said. "When do I need to make another appointment?"

"Can you come on Thursday? At the same time?" Gene asked.

"I can, unless I have a case and have to go out of town. But I'll call you if that happens."

"Okay. Here's my business card," Gene replied, reaching into his back pocket. "Keep it cool, man."

"Thanks, you too…" he murmured as Gene showed him the door. Spencer left the clinic, that relaxed feeling still lingering. When was the last time he'd felt so light, so comfortable? It wasn't until he was halfway to work he realized he hadn't been haunted by thoughts of Maeve.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains slight spoilers for 6X16 "Coda".

**Thursday, September 12, 2013:**

Spencer exited the elevator and headed in the direction of the clinic. The door was ajar, but he couldn't see anyone inside. He stood there for a moment, debating if he should go in or not. He raised his knuckle and rapped on the door.

"H-Hello? Is anybody in here?"

At first, he didn't hear anything, but then he heard a muffled sound that sounded like someone calling for help, followed by a loud clatter. His profiler instincts kicked in and he rushed in the room, automatically reaching for a gun that wasn't there. He noticed a closet door wide open and a tiny woman standing on what appeared to be a wooden box.  _Is that…the girl from the elevator?_  A small white basket was overturned, various handheld instruments littering the floor. Spencer breathed a sigh of relief.  _She must have been trying to reach the instruments and knocked them over._ The woman looked at him with complete and utter embarrassment, her cheeks turning bright red.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked. To his surprise, the woman burst into laughter. "What's so funny?" he asked, confused.

"Give—give me a minute." She was practically cackling. After a few seconds, she stopped laughing. "So sorry."

"Are you okay?" he asked again, furrowing his eyebrows. This woman confused him.

"Yeah. I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz," she drawled in her Southern accent. She stared down at the instruments that littered the floor. "What a mess!" She carefully hopped down off the wooden box, trying not to disturb any more instruments. She began to gather up shakers, bells, and maracas into the basket. Spencer rushed over to help.

"What were you trying to reach?" Spencer asked.

"I needed some shakers," she stated.

"And you thought you could reach them standing on this _cajón_?" Spencer asked, pointing to what he had originally thought was a wooden box.

"Excuse me?"

"A  _cajón_ , also known as a Cajun Drum. The  _cajón_  was developed in coastal Perú during the periods of slavery in Perú. It is associated with several Afro-Peruvian genres. The instrument reached a peak in popularity by 1850, and by the end of the 19th century,  _cajón_  players were experimenting with the design of the instrument by bending some of the planks in the  _cajón_ 's body to alter the instrument's patterns of sound vibration," he stated. The girl stared at him, one corner of her mouth upturning into a slight smirk.

"You sound like a dictionary," she replied, crinkling her nose. "How do you know all that?"

"I seem to know a lot of useless information," he frowned.

"That's not useless. I was just surprised that you know what a  _cajón_ is. Not a lot of people do. And even though I've studied music, I didn't know that the drum originated in Perú. I feel like I should study up on my instrument origins now." She beamed at him. "Can you help me put this back?" She pointed to the basket of handheld instruments. He nodded.

"Is Gene here today?" he asked, after placing the basket on the shelf.

"No, he's in meetings all day. Didn't you see the sign on the door?"

"There wasn't a sign on the door."

"What?!" She whined, making the word almost two syllables long. He noticed her accent became more pronounced when she was excited or flustered. "I swore I put one up there."

"There's nothing there." She walked over to the door, and sure enough, there was nothing posted.

"Well, that sucks. So much for being organized today!" She threw her arms up in the air dramatically and sighed.

"I was supposed to meet Gene for a session today, but since he's not here, I'll, um, just leave," Reid said, moving towards the door.

"Luckily for you, I'm supposed to cover for Gene today. I have all his charts and session plans over there." She pointed to a neat stack of folders on the desk. "Let me guess. You're Dr. Reid, correct?"

"Yes."

"I'm Teagan Wellers, by the way. Nice to finally properly meet you, Dr. Reid." She stuck out her hand.  _So she's the other music therapist on staff. How did I not figure that out earlier?_ He shook her hand tentatively. Her tiny hand felt very warm in his.

"Nice to finally meet you too." She smiled again before walking over to the stack of folders on the desk and shuffling them until she found his file.

"Okay. So it says here you have migraines, but they have no known cause. The doctors think they may be psychosomatic, but Gene thinks they could be stress related," she stated, furrowing her brow.

"Yes."

"Gene also has listed that you worked on guided imagery for your first session," she said, nodding her head slightly, as if she were in agreement.

"Yes."

"Okay. Well, Gene would like to have you try out the Somatron today for your session."

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

"You'll see," she replied, smirking slightly. "This way." She then led him to a room that contained a chair and a sound system. "Here is the Somatron! Ta-da!"

"It looks like a recliner," Spencer stated.  _This is supposed to help me?_

"Technically, it is, but it will vibrate to music. The vibrations are supposed to be soothing. It's hard to explain in theory. You'll just have to experience it. You can sit down now if you'd like, while I get this hooked up." She smiled at him again, before turning to plug in various chords into the sound system. She grabbed a CD from a box of cases on the floor.

"Can I pick the music?" he asked.

"Sure!" she answered. "What would you like?"

"Can you play Beethoven? Specifically, the "Moonlight Sonata"?"

"I think we have that," she stated with yet another grin. She fished in the case before finding the CD. "Ah. And all three movements. Good. You ready?" She began to put the CD in the player.

He nodded and the opening notes began playing. The chair began to vibrate beneath him. It wasn't like a massage chair, which Garcia had forced him to try out at the mall once. No, the vibrations occurred with the rhythm of the music. _I've never experienced anything like this in my life._   _This is so soothing_.  _And finally some music I enjoy._

He had been teaching himself to play the piano since the case with Sammy Sparks. Spencer had never played any instrument before then, but it felt almost as though it came naturally to him. After the case ended, he purchased an electronic keyboard. He didn't practice as much as he would have liked, but when he had the time to do so, he always enjoyed playing. He closed his eyes as the vibrations began to relax him.

* * *

"Hey, Dr. Reid! Did you go to sleep on me?" Spencer awoke with a jolt. Teagan was standing at the door with a stack of papers in her hand.

"I-I suppose I did."

"No problem. It's supposed to relax you. And I guess it did," she giggled. "I have a survey for you to fill out." She handed him a sheet of paper. "It's an assessment to see what your stress levels were like before you came and how they are now." She handed him a pen.

"Thanks." He took the pen and began filling out the survey before furrowing his brow in slight confusion. "Um, I don't know what my stress levels were when I came in."

"Just put non-applicable then." He nodded and continued to fill out the survey.

The sessions really seemed to help. So far, Spencer hadn't had his usual migraines. But he honestly couldn't tell if the therapy was responsible for the lack of them. Sometimes he could go months without one. Other times, he could go days. However, when he slept last night, he didn't dream. He didn't dream of Maeve and he didn't have his usual recurring nightmares. He just slept, and had awoken actually feeling…refreshed. He couldn't remember a night where he slept so long and so peacefully without any interruptions.

It felt weird not having  _that_  dream about Maeve again, though. And it felt odd for him to long for it. Dreams and memories were all he had left of her. Thinking of her brought that deep, sweet relief that he'd confessed to feeling when talking with Rossi months ago.

For the first few months after her death, he couldn't sleep because he dreamed of her. He was scared of what would happen if he'd let himself be lost to his dreams, yet at the same time, that was the only way he could still hope to see her.  _I had a chance at true happiness._ He frowned.

"You okay?" Teagan asked, looking concerned. "You look upset."

"Um, no. I'm fine," Spencer he said quickly. He hurriedly filled out the rest of the survey. "Are we done?"

"Pretty much. You just need to make another appointment before you go," she stated, walking over to the computer to open up Gene's appointment spreadsheet. "He has an opening on Monday at eight o'clock. Can you make it then?"

"I should be able to," he answered.

"Okay, so just put you down for eight then?" Teagan asked.

"Sure." She nodded before typing his name into the spreadsheet.

"There you go. Now I think you're done!"

"Okay. Thank you." He grabbed his messenger bag from the floor.

"You're welcome, Dr. Reid."

"It's Spencer."

"You're welcome, Spencer. Have a great day," she said, smiling at him while she showed him the door. He left the room quickly, without even looking at her. Teagan watched him curiously as he headed in a rush towards the elevator.  _Wow, what's gotten into him?_

* * *

Teagan sat at her desk typing up an assessment on another client.  _Gene has to come back tomorrow or I'm going to freak out. I can't handle all of his clients and my clients at the same time. It's simply too much!_   _I need to relax. Calm down_.  _Try and focus_ ,  _think of pleasant things_ … _McDuffie...coffee...Spencer's eyes are about the color of coffee…_

A smile spread across her face as her thoughts turned to Spencer. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since his session earlier.  _I'm so glad I finally got his name. He's definitely handsome. And he seems so nice. But I shouldn't be attracted to him! He's a client. Not my client, necessarily…_  She frowned. _He seemed really worried when he left_.  _I wonder what that was all about_.

She'd glanced over his file again, observing the note that said his mother had schizophrenia.  _But he's well past the age of onset in males for schizophrenia. Is that why all of the doctors think his migraines are psychosomatic?_ The file also said he was a profiler for the FBI. Since she had no idea what that was, she Googled it on her lunch break. After she saw what the job required, she had to agree with Gene.  _His migraines have to be stress-related. I'll make sure to tell Gene to continue doing stress-relieving techniques with him. Maybe then he'll get some relief._

* * *

Spencer sat at his desk in the bullpen working on paperwork. Blake sat across from him at her desk, finishing up the case file on her desk. He reached over and took a sip of the tea he had purchased downstairs.  _Yuck!_  He crinkled his nose in distaste. He missed drinking coffee. He practically lived off of it, but Maeve had suggested that might be a trigger for his migraines, and to swap to green tea or chamomile tea. He drank it, but it wasn't what he preferred. However, she had been glad to know that he had put her suggestions into action.

_"Is drinking the tea helping?" she asked._

_"Somewhat," he answered. "I still have them, but they're not as frequent or severe."_

_"That's good, at least. You might want to try taking equal doses of Magnesium and Riboflavin in addition to sporadic shots of E2 to see if that gives you more relief."_

_"Do you think that'll help?"_

_"I think so," she answered, a hopeful tone to her voice. Even though he had never seen her face, he knew she was someone he could trust._

After Maeve's death, he went back to coffee, drinking enough to keep him up at night so he wouldn't have to sleep. As a result of either the extreme sleep deprivation or caffeine, he didn't know which; he had the worst migraine he had ever experienced. He didn't remember much, but the pain had been so intense. It felt like someone was beating him over the head with a sledgehammer. And the nausea. He remembered vomiting violently into the toilet before blacking out, hitting his head against the lip of the tub. He awoke on the bathroom floor hours later, covered in vomit and blood from his head wound. The migraine had passed fortunately, but the spot he hit when blacking out had throbbed painfully for days afterward. He hadn't had coffee since, although there were days when he still craved it.

He took another sip of tea and returned to his paperwork.  _At least the headaches are getting better_.  _And I do feel more relaxed. Perhaps the therapy's working? It's certainly…interesting. So far._


	5. Chapter 5

_Spencer walked into his bedroom, taking his messenger bag off his shoulder and placing it on the floor next to him. He stopped short, completely shocked to discover that he was not alone. There was Maeve, sitting on his bed. For a moment, he was rendered speechless._

_"Hi Spencer," Maeve said, smiling gently at him._

_"Hi," he replied. "W-What are you doing here?" He smiled. She's really here! I can't believe it. She's here…sitting on my bed, of all places. He strode across the room to the bed and sat down next to her, taking her hand._

_"I came to see you." She leaned forward and tilted her head, her lips barely brushing his. He blushed deeply and closed his eyes before leaning in for another kiss. It was intoxicating, the feel of her lips on his; he wanted to keep kissing her. He had waited so long for this! Now he could finally tell her he loved her._

_He opened his eyes, gazing lovingly at her…wait. No. No! Maeve was no longer there. Instead he found himself staring at…Diane?! All of a sudden, he found himself back in that room, tied to a chair, feeling Diane's lips on his. An intense feeling of disgust ran through him. He didn't want to kiss her. He didn't love her! **I love Maeve!**_

_Maeve was sitting across from him, watching this sickening ordeal. The disgust turned to nausea as Diane forced her tongue into his mouth. Reid had always hated that kind of kissing._

_He tried to catch Maeve's eye, to make it clear that he did not want this. No. Maeve was his true love. He needed her to know that he didn't mean it when he said he didn't love her._

_Diane stared at him before pulling away. He knew then that she knew this was all a lie._

_"Liar!" Diane shouted. "Liar!" Her words echoed throughout his head. He felt dizzy and the room began to spin. Suddenly, Diane lifted the gun to her head._

_"WAIT!" he yelled. He watched as they both fell to floor in a pool of blood, his beloved Maeve lost to him forever._

"Noooooooooo!" he screamed as he awoke in a cold sweat, shuddering violently. He glanced at the clock that blinked three a.m. in bright red letters.  _No chance of going back to sleep anytime soon, that much is certain_. He sat up and swung his legs over to the side of the bed, cradling his head in his hands.  _When is this going to stop?_  He couldn't keep living like this, reliving that terrible moment night after night.

His mouth felt painfully dry. He desperately needed to grab a quick drink of water. Upon standing, the whole room began to spin.  _Oh no. Not again._  He paused for a second, hoping that the dizziness would go away.  _Nope_. The all-too-familiar pain began in his temples and moved to the back of his head. His stomach lurched.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he gripped the side of the toilet, his head pounding like a timpani.  _Make it stop_. He winced as his stomach gave another lurch. He vomited violently and rested his head against the cool tile of the floor, which gave little relief. The lights in the bathroom were much too bright. Squeezing his eyes shut, he attempted to block out the light. His head throbbed and that familiar nauseous feeling began building up again.

He crawled back to the toilet, groaning as his stomach gave another unsettling lurch. Unable to hold it back any longer, Reid vomited again. Much to his dismay, his head throbbed more violently than before. Grabbing the lip of the tub for support, he squinted in response to the bright light as he desperately opened his medicine cabinet. He found the riboflavin and magnesium tablets. He tried opening the bottles, but his vision was beginning to blur.  _It's not going to help. It didn't last time._

Reid then settled back on the floor and curled in the fetal position while his head pounded and throbbed. The room spun again and he blacked out.

* * *

_BRRRNG! BRRRNG! BRRRNG!_

Spencer awoke hours later on the bathroom floor to his phone ringing in the next room. The pain in his head had lessened to a dull ache. He stood carefully and shuffled into his bedroom to answer his phone.

"H-Hello?" he answered, his voice cracking.

"Spence?" J.J. asked as his head gave another painful throb, her voice full of concern. He pictured the small furrow between her brows that she wore whenever she was worried about anyone. He groaned softly. "Spence, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," he replied, trying to keep the pain out of his voice.

"You sound awful. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," he answered irritably. "I just woke up." He then faked a very loud yawn.

"You did?" J.J. asked dubiously.

"Yeah, I just woke up. What do you want?" he snapped before frowning slightly. He was rarely this grouchy in the mornings. If J.J. noticed his irritability, she didn't react.

"You're nearly an hour late. Hotch is pissed." He glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten a.m. He had been passed out for over six hours on the bathroom floor.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I must have slept through my alarm. Bye J.J." He flipped the phone shut before she could respond. He rushed to the bathroom, but the room began to spin again. Clutching the sink, all Reid could manage to do was dry heave. There was nothing left in his stomach but bile. Within less than fifteen minutes, he'd showered and changed. Quickly grabbing his messenger bag, Reid hurried out, heading straight for the Metro.

* * *

For a supposed day off, Teagan had managed to keep very busy. She had already dropped McDuffie off at the groomer's; she had picked up Lily's and her dry cleaning, and right now she was in need of a coffee break. _I wonder if Starbucks brought the pumpkin spice latte back._ She was so glad she drove instead of walking. It was only September, but it was already very cold, colder than it would be back in Georgia at this time of year. The wind picked up then, urging her to run to her car for warmth and to head in the direction of Starbucks.

To her complete amazement, she managed to find a parking spot directly in front of the Starbucks building.  _What luck! And at this time of day, no less!_  A short time later, Teagan stepped out of the coffee shop, holding a steaming cup of pumpkin spice latte. As she turned towards her car, she noticed an oddly familiar man walking down the street.

It was Dr. Reid. She frowned at his appearance. He looked terrible. He was paler than usual and in desperate need of a shave. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced and he looked like he was in pain.

"Dr. Reid!" she called out, waving at him. He didn't respond; rather he simply kept walking. She called out again. "Spencer!"

"Oh, hi, Teagan," he responded, turning around and blinking in surprise at running into her.

"You don't look like you feel well," she stated. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied, shifting uncomfortably, looking down at his feet for a moment.

"Are you sure?" Spencer glared at her.  _What do you want? I'm late for work and I feel like hell._

"Yes," he snapped. He watched as her face fell slightly before she composed herself.  _I'm being rude. It's not her fault I feel terrible. She was just being friendly. I shouldn't have snapped at her._

"I'm sorry, Teagan, but it's been a very bad morning. I'm late for work and…." his voice trailed off.  _She doesn't need to know about my migraine_.

"Do you need a ride?" she asked. "My car's right here." She gestured to her purple Volkswagen Beetle.

"No thank you, I'll be to the Metro station in a few minutes."

"That's two blocks from here and it's freezing! You already look like you don't feel well. Are you sure I can't drive you?"

Spencer thought for a minute _. She's right_.  _It would take over an hour if I take the Metro, plus walking distance_.  _And it is cold. But if she were to take me to work, the team would never let me hear the end of it_. His head was still aching while he carefully pondered both options. The cold won.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, you silly goose! I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't. Now come on before we both catch our deaths out here!" She took a sip of coffee before rushing to the driver's door. He followed her, opening the passenger door and slinging his bag into the car. His head bumped the ceiling as he went to sit down, and he frowned.  _Too tall for this_. Reid reached around the seat to find a way to put it in a reclining position. Upon finding a button, he pressed it…but it only sent the seat forward.

"Need help?" Teagan giggled as she slid into the car.

"Yes, please. Which button makes the seat go back?"

"Here. Sit forward for a minute." He did and it caused his head to throb. He winced, hoping she wouldn't notice. "The button is faulty, so you just kind of have to push the seat." She pushed the back of the seat roughly and he heard it go back with a loud thunk.

"Sorry about that." He sat back and much to his delight, discovered it had adjusted perfectly. "That better?" He nodded, the motion making his head swim.

"Thanks."

"No problem, Dr. Re-I mean Spencer," she said, smiling at him. "Now which way to Quantico?"

He gave her directions as she zipped through traffic. Reid looked at the dashboard, immediately noticing the flip-flop that hung from the rearview mirror. He pushed it with his index finger, watching it swing lightly from side to side.

"You like my air freshener?" she asked.

"It's certainly interesting," he replied, the pain in his head now moving back to a dull ache. "Take this next exit."

"Okay. Do you mind if I put on some music?" His head had almost ceased throbbing.  _Maybe it will be okay._

"Um, sure."

"Here, you pick." She handed him a purple iPod. Her car was purple, her iPod was purple. It didn't take a profiler to determine that her favorite color was purple.

"Um, uh…" he stammered. He had never used one of these before. "How do you turn it on?" He blushed.  _This is so embarrassing_.

"Oh. Here."She hit a button while she drove. "What kind of music do you like? Besides Beethoven?"

"Mozart."

"And?"

"My mom used to listen to Bob Dylan. I listen to mostly classical music. Beethoven and Mozart are my two favorites."

"Hmm. Interesting" she grinned.

"What?"

"That's just interesting. Did you ever listen to Bob Dylan or was that just something your mom listened to?"

"I've heard his music a few times."

"Do you know "Make You Feel my Love"?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Did you know it's been covered by several different singers in several different genres?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who Adele is?"

"I have no idea who that is," he admitted. She pressed a few more buttons as she took an exit.  _I wish she wouldn't do that; it's so dangerous!_  He found himself biting his tongue to keep from commenting on her terrible driving habits.  _It's almost as bad as riding with Morgan._

Soft piano filled the speakers and a woman's voice sang the opening verses.  _I like the way her voice sounds, very earthy and real. And I know the words, too_. "Shelter from the Storm" and "Make You Feel My Love" were his mother's favorite songs. He smiled to himself as memories of his mom playing Bob Dylan songs ran through his mind.

Another voice joined in, singing harmony, interrupting his thoughts. It was Teagan. She was singing along softly.  _Her voice is beautiful, too_. It wasn't as earthy as Adele's, but it was clear and pure. She stole a quick glance at him.

"Sorry," she said with a blush.

"No, that sounded quite lovely," he blurted out. It was now his turn to blush.

"Aw, thank you. Do you sing?"

"No. Definitely not," he replied, his blush growing deeper at the thought of singing.

"Oh come on! Everyone can sing."

"Not me. Turn here."

"I just don't believe you," she said, giving him an encouraging smile as she turned into the parking lot and he told her where to go next. The song had long since ended and they sat in silence for a few minutes, while she waited for the next set of directions.

She pulled up next to his building and his eyes widened, noticing that Morgan was outside. Reid cursed inwardly.

"Thanks for the ride, Teagan."

"Anytime, Spencer. Do I need to come back to pick you up?"

"No. One of my team members can take me back," he answered, grabbing his messenger bag from the floorboard quickly.

"Okay," Teagan said, giving him a small smile and a wave as he exited her vehicle. "Hope you feel better soon, Spencer. Bye!"

"Bye." He watched as she left the parking lot, before turning around and coming face to face with a grinning Morgan.

"Whoo! You go, Pretty Boy!" Morgan said, slapping him on the back.

"It's not like that—" he started to reply before Morgan interrupted him.

"Overslept, my ass!" Morgan winked at him, before looking him up and down. "And by the looks of it, it was a rough night!"

"No! It's not like that. She's just…"  _What is she? Not my therapist. Not quite a friend._

"She's just what?" Morgan asked.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? What? Please don't tell me Dr. Reid had a one night stand!"

"No! I just…" he trailed off.  _I don't want to tell Morgan I'm seeing a therapist_.  _But Teagan isn't my therapist._  "I just met her a few days ago."

"What does she do?" Morgan asked as they walked into the bullpen together.

"She's a music therapist at Medstar Georgetown University Hospital."

"What in the hell is that?"

"Music therapy is an established health profession in which music is used within a therapeutic relationship to address physical, emotional, cognitive, and social needs of individuals."

"Oh," Morgan replied. "So she just plays some music?"

"No, not exactly," Reid replied with a small sigh. "After assessing the strengths and needs of each client, she provides the indicated treatment including creating, singing, moving to, or listening to music."

"Interesting," Morgan stated as sat at his desk. "How do you know all this?"

"I did some research."

"Figures." Morgan rolled his eyes as Spencer started to sit down. "Nuh-uh, Pretty Boy. Hotch wants to see you in his office." Spencer groaned. He could feel his headache returning. He walked up to Hotch's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Hotch called. Spencer entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him. Hotch was sitting at his desk, filling out paperwork.

"Uh, Morgan said you wanted to see me," he said nervously, walking tentatively over to Hotch's desk.

"Yes," Hotch replied, folding his hands and looking at Reid sternly. "Why were you late?"

"I overslept," he lied smoothly.

"You don't usually oversleep."

"There's a first time for everything, I suppose," he replied.

"Reid, what's really going on? I've noticed you been acting strangely lately," Hotch said, pausing for a moment before lowering his voice. "Is this about Maeve?"

"No, I'm fine. I just overslept. That's all."

Hotch shot him a look that said he knew differently. "Reid?"

Reid sighed. He knew he couldn't keep lying. Hotch was always able to figure out when he was lying. "I had another migraine last night. I passed out on the bathroom floor and my phone woke me up," he stated. "But I'm feeling better today."

"I thought those migraines had stopped," Hotch said with a frown.

"They had, for a while, but now they're back."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Yes. They all seem to think they're psychosomatic, but one doctor has referred me to music therapy. It's been helping up until last night. The therapists seem to think my migraines are stress-related," he paused for a moment before giving Hotch a pleading look. "Please don't tell the team. I don't want them to think I can't do my job."

Hotch hesitated for moment, as if he were debating something.

"This will stay between us. You're rarely late, so I'll let this go for now. However, please continue your therapy treatments, since they seem to help. If you have another headache again, let me know, otherwise, I may have to take further action," Hotch stated.

"Yes, sir," Reid answered. Hotch nodded and Reid knew he'd been dismissed.

He quickly hurried down to his desk. As soon as he sat down, Garcia rushed over.

"So," the bubbly blonde began, "Teagan Wellers. Music therapist at Medstar Georgetown University Hospital, 25 years old from Milledgeville, Georgia, the hometown of Flannery O'Connor. She has an adorable little Westie named McDuffie! She's not very adventurous by the looks of her bank account and Facebook page, but she seems nice. You could not have picked a better girlfriend for you, Reid."

"She's not my girlfriend and why were you checking her out?" he asked, frowning in irritation.

"Babycakes," Garcia replied, "I'm not letting anybody into our lives without checking them out first. I'm sorry. Plus, you can't lie to me. You like her."

"I do not!" Spencer said, exasperated. "I don't even know her that well!"

"You at least think she's pretty," Garcia hedged. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck and licked his lips nervously. "Aha!"

"She's nice looking," Spencer replied.

"Nice looking?" Garcia replied. "That girl is adorable!" Spencer paused as he thought over Garcia's words.  _She is sort of cute with her light blue eyes and open smile. She smiles often and at pretty much everything. She's also very clumsy, a little absent minded, and a bit flighty… but Garcia's right, she is adorable._

"She's nice looking," Spencer stated again, smiling briefly.

"Uh-huh," Garcia winked.

"All right, Baby Girl," Morgan said, pulling her away. "Leave Pretty Boy alone. He's had a rough night."

Spencer rubbed his temples briefly before looking down at his paperwork. His headache was bearable now. He grabbed his pen and started filling out the necessary forms, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was J.J.

"Come on, Spence," she said. "We've got a case." He stood up and headed into the conference room, ready to be briefed on the next case.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Week Later**

Teagan stepped into the elevator with her guitar strapped to her back, a purse on her right shoulder, and a cup of coffee in her hand. She took a swig of her delicious drink and hummed in satisfaction. Her eyes swept across the elevator and it was then she realized she wasn't alone. She looked up and saw Spencer standing towards the back, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking down at his feet. His appearance was better than the last time she saw him, although the dark circles under his eyes were still very apparent.

"Good morning, Spencer," she said cautiously, giving him a small smile.

"Oh, hi, Teagan!" he responded, looking up from the floor, appearing to just notice her presence.

"Going to see Gene?" He nodded in response.

"I haven't been able to go in almost a week. I've been out of town working on a case."

"Did you catch the bad guy?"  _Wow, way to sound overeager, Teagan! But his job is so fascinating…_

"Yeah," he answered, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the next.

He then took in her appearance, his brow furrowing slightly, as his eyes trailed intensely up and down her petite frame. The corner of his mouth twisted up into a slight smirk of amusement.  _Is he checking me out?_

"Um, Teagan, I don't know how to tell you this, but your shoes don't match."

 _Nope. Definitely not checking me out._  She glanced down at her feet.  _Holy crap!_   _He's right!_  A few years ago, she had purchased two pairs of boots, one black pair and one brown pair. They were the same style and same brand. Somehow in getting dressed earlier that morning, she must have put on one of each pair.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing. "This is certainly embarrassing!"  _Why can't I seem to get things together around this guy?_

"I'm sorry to have embarrassed you," Spencer stated as they both exited the elevator.

"You didn't embarrass me. I'm the doofus who wore two different shoes. You were just the one to point it out." She stole a quick glance at his feet. "However, you might be wearing matching shoes, but your socks don't match, so I guess we both did something silly today."

"I never wear matching socks," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"I don't know," he replied with a small shrug.

"You're a genius and you don't know why you don't wear matching socks?" she asked, grinning.  _He is the most adorable person I've ever met._

"Firstly, I don't think intelligence can be accurately measured. Secondly, I just like wearing mismatched socks. No particular reason. It's just that nobody has ever asked me why I wear them before." His brow furrowed again.

"Hmm," she replied. "Well, I'm glad I was the first person to ask. Come on, let's go see Gene, shall we?" She walked excitedly ahead of him, heading towards the clinic. He smiled slightly and shook his head at her bubbly energy, following behind her.

* * *

Spencer left the clinic feeling very relaxed. Gene had wanted him to use the Somatron again. He'd been having a few sleepless nights again of late. The same recurring nightmares had been haunting him.

Fortunately, his headache had passed two days into the recent case, and he hadn't had another one since. He added up the time in his head. He had not had a headache for roughly six days, 144 hours, 8640 minutes, and 518,000 seconds. Except for the nightmares, he was sleeping better as well. Not that he had ever been a heavy sleeper, mind—it had always been difficult for him to keep his mind from wandering. There was just so much to think about!

Lately, however, his thoughts had been turning to Maeve more and more. Sometimes, like now, he thought that he would be alone forever. He just couldn't picture being with anyone else. Maeve had been his equal in almost every way, especially intellectually. He wistfully recalled the times they spent discussing literature, or complex scientific theories. He loved to hear her ramble about genetics or the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and how he discussed them with her in return. He never felt like a freak with a giant I.Q. when talking to her.

She would have been the mother of his children _. I would have married her. And had a happy life with her_. He was just going to have to accept the fact that the closest he was going to get to ever having a child of his own was Henry. Last night, before they got off the plane, J.J. had asked him over for brunch Sunday. Maybe he would teach Henry some magic tricks. He smiled at the thought.

Reid's mind suddenly went to his earlier encounter with Teagan. He chuckled slightly at the memory. She was the clumsiest, quirkiest, strangest, most scatter-brained woman he had ever met. How someone left the house without checking to make sure their shoes matched was beyond him.  _How did she not notice them? Especially if she drove here. Doesn't she look at her feet at least once before she starts driving?_ He found himself startled at the sudden, intrusive thoughts. He paused for a moment, surprised that he couldn't stop thinking about her.

He'd meant to thank her again for the ride she gave him the other day. It had been really appreciated, even if he had gotten teased by the rest of the team. She had been very nice to him so far, and helpful too. She had gone out of her way to be see if he was feeling okay and always seemed eager to come to his aid whenever he needed it. He found that he couldn't stop smiling whenever she was around and he felt more alert and focused, too.

As if on cue, Teagan stepped out of her office and headed towards the elevator, with a basket of shakers and her ever-present guitar.

"Hi," she said. "How'd your session go?"

"Um, rather well," he said.

"Good," Teagan said with a small nod and a smile.

"Teagan," he began, watching as she turned to face him. "Um, thanks for, um, giving me a ride to work last week." His face flushed as he stammered out the sentence.

"No problem, Spencer," she replied as they both boarded the elevator. "Are you feeling better? You looked a little sick the last time I saw you."

"I'm feeling much better. Again, I'm sorry I snapped at you. I wasn't feeling well, and I was late—"

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're in better spirits," she said, interrupting him. "I'll see you around, okay? I'm late for my next session!" She rushed off the elevator leaving him standing there mid-sentence.


	7. Chapter 7

Teagan stepped into her apartment later that afternoon and was instantly greeted by McDuffie. He was dancing around her ankles and begging for attention.

“Hey, buddy! Ready to go for a walk? I just need to change my shoes first, okay?” She reached down to pet him. He barked in response and followed her into her bedroom, where she reached for a matching pair of sneakers from her closet.

Nobody else had noticed her mismatched shoes today but Spencer. _Why was that? Well, he’s very observant. He IS a profiler, after all. It’s only natural that he’d see something out of place. Right?_

 _He’s such an odd duck._  He had so many little mannerisms that were quite adorable. _Like the way he shifts from one foot to the next whenever we have a conversation. Or the way he blushes whenever I tease him. He reminds me of a teenage boy_. He was a bit awkward, but so was she, which for some reason made Teagan feel oddly at ease around him.

She also noticed he always seemed to be really upset about something. _Probably to do with his job_. _I don’t know how he gets up and does that job every day._

 She grabbed McDuffie’s leash from the hook by the door and started out the apartment to the park, which was a few blocks away. As soon as she leashed him, he began hurrying happily down the sidewalk path. His enthusiasm caused her to giggle. McDuffie always enjoyed his afternoon walk. Back home in Georgia, when she lived with her parents, he had a sprawling fenced-in back yard to run in. He’d chase squirrels and romp around the yard, getting completely dirty. Now that she lived in Fredericksburg in an apartment, there was no way he could run to his full content.  Instead, they went on daily walks and he was able to release some of his pent-up energy. _I just hope he’s not too miserable._ She smiled as she watched McDuffie trot down the sidewalk in front of her, his tail wagging happily before marking his territory on a fire hydrant. _Typical McDuffie._ _Maybe he’s adjusting well, after all._

As soon as they rounded the corner, Teagan’s stomach began to growl. It was Lily’s turn to cook tonight. _I hope she has dinner started when we get back. I’m starving!_ The one common passion the two girls always shared had been cooking; specifically, baking. Between the two of them, there was always some form of baked good in the house. Once every couple of weeks, one of them would try out a new recipe and the other would try it and give pointers on how it could be improved. _I wonder what she’s making tonight. It’s kinda cold out. I could go for some vegetable soup. Or some baked spaghetti._

Teagan and McDuffie eventually made their way into the local park and Teagan immediately began to relax. Of all the parks in Fredericksburg, this one was her particular favorite, since it was exceptionally clean, with a river walk at the farthest end of the park. The thing she loved most was that it was dog friendly. Her gaze swept over the park, watching as a few people walked their dogs, while others were playing Frisbee. There also appeared to be a chess tournament occurring across the way. She understood chess minimally. One of her ex-boyfriends and his dad played chess often. Her ex had tried to teach her the basics of the game, but it all seemed too complicated. Maybe it was the way he had explained it.

Teagan passed another girl walking a pug. McDuffie whined and tugged at his leash.

“No, McDuffie! Stay!” she commanded. The girl continued to walk by with her pug. McDuffie pulled against the leash harder, whining louder as he began trying to pull Teagan along so he could greet the other dog.

“No, McDuffie! No!” The Westie tugged again. He soon managed to pull the leash out of Teagan’s hand, and then he was off like a shot.

“MCDUFFIE! NO!” Teagan sprinted after her Westie. “McDuffie!” He was barreling toward the chess game, paying her no attention.

“MCDUFFIE! STOP!” she screamed, racing after her dog and towards the chess game. McDuffie managed to stop just sort of the chess table, begging for attention from the crowd of people that had gathered around. Teagan was still sprinting madly after him, but once she realize he’d stopped, she slowed her pace.

She was almost to the table when McDuffie raced to her and began dancing around her feet, causing her to trip. She started to catch herself but ended up knocking the chessboard and the pieces everywhere, landing on the ground with an audible “umph”. The crowd around the table began to laugh gently, whispering and pointing.

Her cheeks began to burn as she lay on the ground, remaining immobile to save herself the embarrassment of facing all of those people. This was one of the moments when she wished that the earth could swallow her whole so that she could disappear.  Meanwhile, McDuffie began licking her face. _Damn this dog!_

“Um, Teagan, are you okay?” Her eyes widened in horror at the sound of a familiar voice.

 _Oh shit. Not him_. _I always make an idiot of myself around him._

“Yes, I’m fine. Go away,” she mumbled. _Blech_. She literally had eaten dirt when she fell. _Gross!_ She sat up, coughing and wiped her cheeks and clothing free of any remaining dirt before looking up, staring into the very warm brown eyes of Dr. Spencer Reid.

 “Here,” he said, offering her his hand. “Let me help you up.”

  “T-Thank you,” she said shakily. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks. She quickly brushed the dirt from her hands. “I hope I don’t get any dirt on you.” Spencer looked down at her disheveled appearance before brushing a bit of dirt from the shoulder of her sweater. 

“There you go,” he stated.

The crowd had stopped laughing by this point and several children in the crowd had begun to play with McDuffie, who was bouncing and barking happily around the crowd. _Crazy dog. Always wanting attention._

“C’mere, McDuffie. You awful dog.” McDuffie came to her, only to immediately begin growling at Spencer. “Stop that! He’s a friend!”

“Oh, that happens with all dogs. Our team supervisor calls it “The Reid Effect.” It happens with babies too,” Spencer stated, crinkling his nose.  

“Well, dogs and babies can sense when you’re nervous,” she replied, as she began picking up chess pieces from the ground. “Don’t eat that, McDuffie! I’m sorry for ruining the chess game!” she continued, apologizing to the crowd and to the teenage boy behind her.

“It’s okay,” Spencer replied. “I was just explaining to George that there aren’t really an infinite number of moves in chess. It’s just such an exponentially large amount that it seems infinite. Did you know there’s an average of forty moves per chess game?”

“No,” she mumbled. “I actually know nothing about chess so what you just said made no sense to me.”

“Oh,” he replied with a frown. “It’s not very hard once you understand the concept. You see the whole point is to--”

“McDuffie, no!” In the course of their conversation, McDuffie hiked his leg on Spencer’s shoes.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” she whined, near the point of tears. Why did everything she did have to be so exceedingly embarrassing? “I’m so sorry!” Spencer just blinked in disbelief.

“Did he just--?” he replied, staring down in horror at his now ruined pants leg and shoe.

“Yep. Pissed right on your shoes. Bad McDuffie! My dog is horrible and I’m a klutz! I’m leaving before I can do anymore damage. I’m so sorry, Spencer. Send your dry cleaning bill to me.” She turned around. “C’mon, McDuffie. You’re such a bad dog!” She shook her finger at him and began the route to exit the park.

* * *

Spencer stood there for a moment comprehending what had just occurred. _Poor Teagan. I need to make it up to her somehow_. He stared down at his completely soaked pants leg. _If I don’t hurry up and wash my pants, they’re going to stink._ He turned around to George.

 “Can you finish cleaning up?” George nodded in response. Reid then began to run after Teagan.

“Teagan, wait!” She turned around.

“What?” Her face was red from crying and embarrassment. Her baby blue sweater and cream colored pants were covered in dirt and grass stains. Spencer didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t very good with situations like this. He just knew he didn’t want her to leave feeling so embarrassed.

“Um,” he began slowly, licking his lips nervously and sticking his hands in his pockets.    

“What?” She replied. “In case you didn’t hear me the first time, please send your dry cleaning bill to me. I’m really sorry about McDuffie peeing on your shoe. He’s horrible.” She frowned at her dog, who was currently sniffing Spencer’s wet shoe curiously. “And I’m sorry we both ruined your game of chess.”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “I’m not going to make you pay for my dry cleaning.”

“But--” she interjected.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t feel bad about what happened, okay?”

“But I can’t.” Her stomach growled fiercely then, interrupting their conversation.

“Tell you what,” Spencer said suddenly. “Why don’t we go home and change and then….maybe we could….grab a bite to eat somewhere?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I know this great Indian place. They have great chicken tandoori.” Teagan stared at him for a moment. _Did he just ask me out? Yes, I’ll happily go get dinner with you!_

“Um, sure,” she replied, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. She watched as his face brightened in excitement at her response. _He’s just too damn cute._

“Do you live far from here?”

“No. Just a few blocks away.” McDuffie barked impatiently. “Hush, you.” She stared at the Westie.

"So do I. Do you want to just meet back here around six-thirty?” he asked, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Sure,” she replied, smiling back at him. “See you soon, Spencer.” She gave a small wave as she exited the park.

Spencer watched as the tiny woman walked away with her dog towards her apartment. He turned in the opposite direction and began towards his, feeling slightly dazed. _Did I just ask her out on a date?_ He had never really been on a date, come to think of it. He wasn’t typically comfortable around women, with the exception of J.J and Emily. And Maeve.

But Teagan was different than all three of these women. He could honestly say he had never met anyone like her. He smirked in amusement. _She’s just as clumsy as me. I don’t think her dog likes me very much, but I’m willing to overlook that._

He hated when everyone had laughed at her when she fell. He knew that embarrassment all too well. It was the Alexa Lisbon situation all over again. He tripped during gym class and landed at her feet. The entire class laughed loudly, including Alexa, with some even throwing in a few taunts. She hadn’t even offered to help him up, just tossing her hair over her shoulder before heading towards the locker room to change. Little did he know back then that Alexa was capable of much crueler behavior.

He shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind, the excitement of his upcoming date. _I wonder what would J.J. think about what just happened? What would J.J. think about Teagan?_  He pondered these questions as he stepped into his apartment.

 

 


End file.
